


You Will Leave a Mark

by rabidchild67



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Cancer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter can't quite forgive Neal after the events of Point Blank, so he dissolves their partnership. One day, Moz tells him some devastating news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Will Leave a Mark

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song of the same name by A Silent Film; the lyrics in that song seemed to mesh well with the story.

Peter stood in the doorway of the hospital waiting room, waiting to be noticed. Neal was sitting in a chair in the far corner, head in his hands, staring at the floor, unmoving. Diana, who’d been waiting with Neal, crossed over to Peter. “What news?” he asked.

“The little guy’s in surgery. The bullet just missed his heart, but there’s extensive damage. It’s not looking good.”

“Jesus,” Peter breathed. “How’s Neal?”

“About what you’d expect. He blames himself. You should talk to him.”

Peter glanced at Neal and then looked away, like it was painful to look at his partner. “No, I – I should get back to the office. Fowler will need witness protection. He’s a likely target for Larssen. Keep me apprised?” He squeezed her arm.

“Sure thing, boss.”

Peter turned and left without another glance at Neal.

\----

Peter returned to the office a bit late the next morning. He’d stayed late to finalize the arrangements for Fowler’s protective detail himself, and didn’t arrive home until after midnight. Once back at the office, he set about working out how he was going to best represent the incident at the Russian cultural center in his report. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know how he was going to manage it and keep Neal out of trouble.

Neal. Thinking about what had happened in the last two days made his heart hurt. He felt so betrayed, so used by his partner. Huh – partner, he thought. He wondered if the younger man really knew the meaning of the word.

His cell phone rang then and he glanced at the display. _Neal – cell_ it read, and he sighed. Possibly the last person he wanted to talk to right now. He clicked the “accept” button anyway. “Neal,” he said, trying to sound neutral.

“Peter,” Neal said at the other end, his voice subdued. He sounded tired.

“How is Mozzie?”

“He’s in the ICU. They say the next 24 hours are crucial.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. We’ve taken the investigation over from the NYPD. Jones is out on canvas – we’ll find this guy.”

“Thank you. Peter – “

“And listen, you take whatever time you need, OK? Be with your friend, Neal.”

“That’s – “

“I’ve got to go to a meeting with Hughes. I’ll call you later, OK?” Peter didn’t wait to hear his answer and clicked the “end” button on the phone. He held the phone against his mouth and closed his eyes, sighing. For the life of him, he wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive Neal Caffrey.

\----

The remainder of the week passed very slowly. Moz remained in the ICU, making slow but positive progress. Elizabeth spent the first two days with Neal at Moz’s side, because she cared about the injured man and wanted to be there to support Neal in his time of need. She knew what it cost her husband, but she also didn’t blame Peter for staying away. He’d been deeply hurt by Neal’s actions and likely didn’t trust himself in the inevitable confrontation about it. When Neal brought it up she refused to discuss it – she knew that there was little she could do to heal the rift between them.

On Friday evening, Peter was just about to tie up his loose ends and leave for the weekend when he glanced up and saw Neal in his office doorway.

“Hey,” Neal said by way of greeting. He looked like hell, Peter thought. His face was pale and drawn, he wore jeans and a sweater that looked as if he’d been sleeping in it for the past several days, and he was sporting at least a four-day growth of stubble on his jaw. He stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, eyes rimmed with red, highlighted by dark circles.

“How’s Moz?” Peter asked, pulling his laptop closed and folding his hands on his desk.

“About the same. Not worse, but not better. There’s no sign of infection, though, so the doctors say that’s something.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Then, silence between the two, who had chatted and laughed so easily and comfortably with each other less than a week ago. “Look, Peter, can we get past this?” Neal finally said, looking up to meet his eyes.

It hurt Peter’s heart to see the pain in his eyes, but he knew what his answer was before the question was posed. “You betrayed me, Neal. I can’t let that go.”

“I am so, so sorry, Peter. You have to put yourself in my shoes – “

“No, I don’t. Not anymore.” Peter tried to continue several times, and when he finally did, his voice was choked with emotion. “After everything we’ve done, everything we’ve meant to each other, Neal. You just – well, you know what you did. And I – I’m done with you. I’ve had enough.”

 “Peter, please.”

“I thought we agreed: no more secrets. You once told me you’d never lied to me, Neal, and it was true then. But lately I don’t even know you. I needed you to trust me. To trust me and wait until we could work this out together. But you used me, and you used Alex, and I don’t know who else, and for what, Neal? For what?” Peter was standing now, and he realized he was shouting. “Mozzie almost died, and you and me – you and me –“

Tears were falling down both their faces now. “What?” Neal whispered.

“We’re broken now, Neal. Broken. How is that vengeance concept sitting with you now, huh? I hope you’re happy with the result you’ve gotten.”

Neal ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere but at Peter. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet. “No, not happy. I haven’t been happy for a very long time. So what now? Back to prison with me?”

Peter gazed at Neal and his face softened. For all his anger and disappointment, he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. “No, Neal, I won’t do that to you. Hughes knows nothing of what really happened with you and Fowler. Diana and Jones will keep it quiet.”

Neal looked up at him then, blue eyes large with gratitude. Peter put up a hand to cut off his next comment. “But you’re off my team. I won’t have someone around me I can’t trust. Agent Franklin is starting a new team out of Newark, I’m sure he’ll be happy to have you as an asset.”

Neal reacted as if he’d been punched in the gut. “Peter, no – “

Peter rose, grabbed his suit jacket and briefcase and looked Neal in the eye. He said nothing more, just shook his head and left. Neal ran both his hands through his hair and sank to the floor on his haunches. “What have I done?” he asked no one in particular.  
  
  
\----

Two weeks later, Peter heard through Diana that Moz had been taken out of ICU, and it was a big relief to hear that the little guy was on the road to recovery. Hughes had approved Neal’s transfer without question, trusting that Peter knew what was best for his own team, and secretly relieved to have the conman out of his division.

Peter had not seen Neal since that Friday evening, and he missed him every day. Elizabeth missed him too, but Peter was a man who felt deeply, and she didn’t know if she could immediately forgive Neal his transgressions either – this time he had taken things too far.

Two months later and there was still no progress on finding the man who’d shot Moz. The trail had grown cold and Peter feared he’d left the country. Fowler could provide no further intel on the man, and had been spirited off into the protective custody of the US Marshalls and places unknown. The NY White Collar division settled into its own rhythm again, and was now working a huge antiquities smuggling case that was endlessly fascinating and all the more frustrating in that Peter didn’t have Neal to bounce his theories off of.

Neal, apparently, had been doing quite well for Agent Franklin in Newark, helping that team break open a blood diamond smuggling ring and a corporate espionage case in the pharmaceutical industry in the few short weeks since he’d joined them. Peter was unaccountably proud of him for it, which made him feel Neal’s absence even more keenly.

Four months later, and Elizabeth ran into Neal at a reception she was catering for opening night at the Metropolitan Opera. “Oh?” Peter said to her when she told him, his heart skipping a beat to hear his erstwhile partner’s name again. Even after this span of time, his name still brought feelings of pain and regret for Peter.

“He had some blonde on his arm. I think he must’ve been undercover, because she was trash-ee.” She laughed to think of Neal with such a woman.

“How did he look?” Peter asked, trying to sound only mildly interested.

“Come to think of it, not well, honey. He looked really tired and thin, like he’s lost weight. They must be running him ragged down there in Newark.”

“I guess so,” Peter answered and left it at that. He made a mental note to check in with Agent Franklin in the morning just in case.

Another four months passed, and Peter found he could go days without thinking about Neal, and when he did it was with a kind of fondness and nostalgia that almost never dredged up the old pain. He was happy to hear of his accomplishments as they filtered to him through the grapevine, and maybe just a bit proud to have had a hand in cultivating Neal as an important asset for the agency.

One afternoon, as he was headed out to meet Elizabeth for lunch, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd just outside the building.

 “Hello, Suit.”

“Moz,” Peter said, legitimately glad to see him. The last time Peter had seen him, he’d been recovering from a serious gunshot wound to the chest. Now he looked hale and hearty and as hinky as ever. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“What brings you all the way down to Federal Plaza? I can’t imagine it’s a place you enjoy being on a normal occasion.”

“You know me well. I’ve come to talk about our mutual friend.”

Peter’s smile faded. “Oh?” he said, his shoulders dropping a little. Speaking of Neal could still bring about an emotional response. “How is he?”

Mozzie looked at Peter for an entire minute before speaking. “He doesn’t know I’m here. If he did, he’d kill me.”

“What’s he done now? Is he in some sort of trouble?”

“You could say that.”

“Please tell me it’s not another art forgery. I don’t think I could handle it if – “

Moz cut him off, his words tumbling out in a rush, “Peter, Neal’s dying.”

Peter took a step back as if physically struck. His face went pale as his eyes widened. “What? No, he’s not, he’s – “ Suddenly, his knees were wobbly. He leaned his calves back against a nearby park bench to steady himself but kept going in that direction, reaching out a hand to catch himself as he landed hard on the bench.

Mozzie sat on the opposite end of the bench and spoke quietly, his own emotions threatening to overcome him. “They said it’s Hodgkin’s disease. The doctors say it’s treatable, but Neal’s refusing it. He won’t say why.”

Peter looked at Moz and all he felt was the world swirling around him. “How long – “

“Without chemo and radiation, he hasn’t got a year. He was diagnosed about three months ago.”

“But if he gets the treatment?“

“The prognosis is good if it’s caught in time, and it has been. This is why I’ve come to you. As I said, he’s refusing treatment. I need you to convince him otherwise.”

“Me? Why?”

“You know why.”

Peter looked down at his shoes. He knew why.

\----

An hour later, Peter pulled up to the stately residence on Riverside Drive. He sat staring up at the once-familiar balcony for several minutes, working up the courage to get out of the car. It had been so long since he’d seen Neal, and he had been so cruel to him – would he even see him? But a part of him knew he had to do this, was determined not to fail. It was certainly worth it if he could convince Neal to take steps to heal himself. “Cowboy up, Burke. This is for Neal,” he muttered. Peter took a deep breath and got out of the car.

June answered the door herself. “Peter,” she greeted him warmly, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek. “What a lovely surprise. Please come in.”

Peter entered, faced June and asked, “Is he here?”

She nodded. “He’s upstairs.”

“How is he?”

A sad expression crossed June's flawless face. “Some days are better than others. Today’s a bad day. You should go up.”

“I don’t know if he’ll want to see me.”

“He will. Come with me, I’ll see you in.”

\----

Neal sat on his couch reading _The Fountainhead_ , a cup of tea at his elbow and a blanket tucked around his legs. He seemed to be cold all the time now – or else drenched by night sweats – and he hated it. This morning he had awakened feeling as weak and sick as a two-day old kitten and had been forced to stay home. Agent Franklin had been very understanding since he’d had to tell him about his diagnosis – all the members of his new team were being very nice to him – so he had decided to stay home today to take a breather. Case files sat untouched on his table, the agency-issued laptop sat charging on the desk.

He heard a step on the landing outside his door followed by a light knock. It had to be June. He flung the blanket aside and took his glasses off. “Come in,” he called, sitting up.

“Neal, you have a visitor,” June said in that gentle way of hers, stepping inside to let Peter in.

When Neal saw Peter, his throat went dry. This was not how he’d envisioned it the hundreds of times he’d imagined their reunion. In his imagination, he was usually triumphant, having broken the case of the century, or else stealthily breaking into a bank to save Peter and a number of hostages during a robbery gone wrong. Sometimes, on his darkest nights, he imagined himself lying on the verge of death with a guilt- and grief-stricken Peter weeping at his bedside.

Neal stood, dropping the book he held. “Peter,” he said.

It hurt Peter almost more than he thought it possible to see Neal like this. He was so pale and thin – and he had been a very lean man to begin with. Peter thought he could spy faint bruises along his hands and wrists and wondered if they hurt. Worst of all was his face – so drawn and tired-looking, his eyes were dull and his hair had lost its sheen. “Neal,” Peter breathed, taking an involuntary step forward.

They stood staring at each other for a full minute before June broke the silence. “I’ll just go and make some coffee, shall I?” she said, and eased out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The spell broken, Peter crossed the distance between them in three strides and wrapped Neal in his arms, holding him as tight as he dared. Neal didn’t move, but Peter felt him relax, giving into the embrace just a little. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Peter murmured over his head.

Neal stiffened and pushed off of Peter a little, ending their embrace. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, taking a step back.

“I do, Neal, I do,” Peter said and put his hands on Neal’s shoulders, sliding his right hand closer, his thumb brushing Neal's exposed neck. For some reason he did not understand, he felt the need to touch Neal, as if it could erase the estrangement of the last ten months, make everything better, turn back the clock.

Neal ducked away, turned to retrieve his book from the floor and threw it back on the couch. “I don’t want your pity, Peter,” he said quietly, and hung his head.

“I’m not offering any.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What brings you here then? It’s a little late to make amends.”

“It’s never too late for that, Neal. And I’m here because I care for you.”

Neal’s back straightened at that, and he looked around at Peter, turned to face him again. “Please don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

Neal was silent.

Peter suddenly understood. “Because if I say I care for you and I’m sorry, it means you’ve been forgiven, and you don’t want that, do you?”

Neal blinked and the tears welling in his eyes fell. Peter could hear the harshness in his tone, saw the effect it was having on Neal but couldn’t stop himself. He was actually angry now. “It’s all making sense now. You’re so ashamed of what you’ve done, of what you’ve become, that you think you deserve all of this. You deserve to be sick, and you want to die. But for what, Neal? Do you think it makes up for something?”

“It means I can’t hurt anyone else.”

Peter nodded. “Did you even stop to consider what a hole you’d leave behind?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Don’t you see that you would only hurt us more, the people who love you?”

Neal shook his head. “I don’t deserve it,” he said quietly.

All of Peter’s anger suddenly dissipated, and he looked at Neal with real sorrow in his eyes. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

Neal said nothing, and turned away. Peter crossed the space between them and grabbed Neal’s shoulder, turned him around so they were face to face. “Peter, please,” Neal said, holding up a hand, but whatever he was about to say was forgotten as Peter took his face in his hands and kissed him gently, almost reverently on the lips.

Neal almost gave in to the kiss but then pulled away, his hands on Peter’s chest. “Stop, please stop.”

Peter held on to Neal's arms. “I won’t. I can’t. _I love you_.”

Neal hung his head and leaned it against Peter’s chest. Peter felt him begin to shake, and tried to pull him in closer, but Neal took a step backward and Peter realized he was laughing now. “You’re laughing.” Peter said, stating the obvious.

But Neal’s laughter held no mirth, only bitterness and self-hatred, and this hurt Peter even more to see. “Well, yes. Because this is just _fucking perfect_ , don’t you think?”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“It’s the story of my life, Peter. I get this close to getting what I want and I just screw it up.” Neal turned away from him and began gesturing wildly. “Or maybe I screw up so I don’t get what I want? Well, that’s a psychiatrist’s wet dream right there, isn’t it?” He was hysterical now, out of breath, and it alarmed Peter.

“Neal, stop it!”

“No.”

“Stop it!” Peter repeated and took him into his arms again. Neal struggled to get away but Peter held on, murmuring, “Shhh, stop it, Neal. Shhhh,” over and over. Finally, Neal gave in and collapsed against Peter, sobbing, hands clutching at his jacket.

Peter guided Neal over to the couch and eased him onto it. He sat next to him and pulled his head down to rest on his shoulder. Soon, Neal regained control over his emotions, and took a few deep and calming breaths to steady himself. “Feel better?” Peter asked, and Neal nodded. “Where is June with that coffee?” he wondered aloud and Neal laughed. Peter went downstairs to fetch them some coffee.

When he returned, Neal emerged from the bathroom, drying his face. He looked wrung out, but without the hopelessness Peter had detected earlier. Peter laid the tray with the coffee onto the table and poured them both a cup. Neal sat at the table and rested his head on his hands, accepted the coffee but didn’t drink right away. He regarded Peter closely. “I’ve missed you,” he finally said, blue eyes clear and intent on Peter’s.

“Me too,” Peter replied, giving a half smile. “I didn’t know how much until I saw you today.”

They drank their coffee in silence for a few minutes. “I’m scared, Peter,” Neal finally said.

“I know. But we’ll get through this together.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I mean it. You’re not alone, Neal. You never have been. There are people who care a lot about you. Can you let that happen? Can you let us take care of you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had to do that before, you know? I’ve been on my own since I was 14. Even with Kate, it was me looking after her.”

“You’ll just have to trust us.” Peter reached out and put his palm against Neal’s face. Neal leaned into the caress and closed his eyes. Peter leaned forward and kissed him again, lightly, on the forehead. He rose and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Now, we need to call El. Her cousin is an oncologist over at Sloan-Kettering. Maybe she can get us in to see him on Monday.”

Neal looked unsure. “Trust, Neal,” Peter reminded him. “Now is the time to start.”

 ----  
Thank you for your time.  



End file.
